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Off The Rail - Dec 24, 2005 - Printable Version
- Stupid Things People Do In The Backcountry
(Part II)
by Mike Bohling
As promised, in this second edition of Stupid Things People Do In The Backcountry, I would like to tell a few of tales of the more humorous situations that I have seen, and taken part in, while traveling in the backcountry. I still get grief from my friends about the events that took place in this first story. Steal a guy’s underwear just once, and he never lets you forget it.
The Great Toilet Paper Famine of 1983
Be Prepared. Following this simple Boy Scout motto will not only make your backcountry experience safer and more enjoyable, but it will also save you from situations like the one I’m about to describe.
"Have you ever wondered why so many backpackers and hikers return with the sleeves of their flannel shirts torn off? Lack of planning. Boy Scouts remember to bring toilet paper". – Troop 333 Scoutmaster, Serge’ "Papa" Usavich, 1971.
It started shortly after setting up camp on the first night of a ten day backpacking trip in the John Muir Wilderness, right after my pals and I finished eating one of those freeze dried beef stroganoff dinners. I don’t know if you’re familiar with these overpriced, pre-packaged culinary delights found in outdoor stores, but I can tell you first hand that the idea that this stuff can legally be sold as food is a crime in itself. If you can get past the taste and eat a plate full, you will almost immediately discover that it, uh, doesn’t sit well. That little discovery hit Darren first. His second discovery was that he forgot to pack T.P. for the trip.
One by one he asked each of us if we had a roll he could use, and one by one all four of my other friends acknowledged that they had also forgotten to bring T.P. I was the only one who followed Mr. Usavich’s sage advice.
Let’s see, one full roll, six guys, ten days…. I quickly deduced that I was sitting on a gold mine. As the beef stroganoff started working it’s magic on my fellow campers, I decided that eliciting gifts from them in return for each fist full of Charmin would greatly improve the contents of my snack bag. A box of raisins here, some freeze dried ice cream there, a few chocolate bars….Yeah, life was good. I had become the Toilet Paper Baron of the Sierra. Unfortunately, by lunchtime the next day, my golden goose ran out of eggs, and we were all left to fend for ourselves with whatever nature could provide, which we came to term as "John Wayne Toilet Paper", (rougher than hell, and doesn’t take shit off of anyone).
In the days that followed, I started observing that whenever one of my friends needed to take a hike off into the woods alone, sly glances and snickers not meant for my eyes and ears were being passed. It wasn’t until the fourth day, after I discovered that my backpack was noticeably lighter, that I learned they had been stealing articles of my clothing, shredding them, and sharing the remnants among themselves to be used on their morning hikes.
It seems that they all decided to conspire against me just because I liberated of few of their favorite snacks on that first night. Needless to say, the rest of the trip fell into complete anarchy. Midnight T-shirt raids, socks disappearing from clotheslines, long pants mysteriously turning into shorts in the wee hours of the morning. I can truthfully say that not one of us used our own clothing to take care of business the whole time, but it all worked out in the end (yes, that was a pun). By the final day, none of us had any splinters from using John Wayne Toilet Paper, and our packs, being relived of all clothing and food, were feather light for the long uphill trek back to the van.
Mr. Usavich would have been proud.
This second story was funny to me at the time, but now that I look back on it, it drives home some very serious points about backcountry travel.
Down the River, Up the Creek
While forgetting to bring the T.P. is a relatively minor inconvenience, not knowing the expectations of your trip, or possessing the skills and abilities required to complete the journey safely, can be disastrous. One of the best examples I know of is the story of Jeff. I met Jeff exactly four times in one afternoon while I was fishing on the Carson River near Markleeville California. It was early spring, and the river was running high with frigid snowmelt.
The first time I met Jeff was when he floated past me in canoe about a mile downstream from the where I had parked to start my hike. Jeff was paddling a canoe filled with camping gear and food for the 25 mile trip down river. He got a little sideways in a class II rapid just above me, and sort of plopped into the hole that I was fishing. As I watched him struggle to control the canoe, it became obvious to me that Jeff was new to paddling whitewater. Sure enough, just after he passed me, Jeff broached the canoe on a rock and got stuck in the middle of the river. I waded over to the rock, helped him free the canoe, and got him to shore. With Jeff safely on terra firma changing into dry clothes and emptying the water out of his boat, I continued my hike downstream.
The second time I met Jeff was only about 500 yards downstream from where I left him the first time. He made his appearance about ten minutes after his canoe did. I snagged it as it drifted by without Jeff in it. He was all wet again. After he retrieved his boat I continued my hike downstream, once more leaving him to change into dry clothes.
The third time I met Jeff was when he paddled by, waving and thanking me for the help I’d given him the first two times we met.
The fourth time I met Jeff was another two miles downstream. I knew it was Jeff from a mile away, because that’s where I started picking up his food and gear along the riverbank. (In the paddling world, we refer to that as a "yard sale"). When I found him, he was all wet again, sitting on a rock shivering away with a pretty good case of hypothermia and no more dry clothes to change into. He managed to keep hold of the boat this time, but his paddle was long gone downstream. I fed him a couple of energy bars, built a small a fire for him to warm up against, and managed to salvage some more of his gear that was floating in an eddy just below where he struggled ashore. After he recuperated, I picked up the canoe, he picked up all of his soggy stuff, and we humped it all uphill three miles back to the parking area.
Jeff pretty much put himself into a situation that he was woefully ill prepared for. He didn’t know the river or what to expect from it, he didn’t have the skills he needed to make the trip, he was wearing cotton clothes instead of a wetsuit, had no emergency provisions, and most importantly, he ventured into this journey alone. All in all, he got lucky. If he had made it just a half mile further, he would have entered a gorge full of Class III’s, and a two-mile swim down river as the only way out.
Deer Prudence
In another tale that begins with me doing a little hiking and fishing, I’d like to explain how what you don’t know, can hurt you. This one is kinda gross, so if you have a weak stomach, stop reading here. On this particular trip, I was hiking upstream on the Yuba river on a hot August afternoon. It was about two miles from the parking area where I came upon a young family camped at the base of a waterfall. It was an ideal campsite. Nice beach, deep swimming hole, mom, dad, and kids all splashing and playing under the cascading water. Perfect.
It wasn’t until I reached the top of the waterfall that my nose discovered the unseen problem with the campsite down below. Half submerged in the pool of water right at the top, I found the maggot infested, decomposing carcass of a dead deer. The very same waterfall that the family was, swimming, splashing, and playing in 100 feet below me. The stench was awful, I almost lost my cookies when I grabbed it by the hind legs and pulled it up onto the grass. As I passed through their camp on my return trip a few hours later I told the father what I had found upstream, he didn’t seem concerned about it and went back to reading his book. I hope that book had some suggestions on dealing with the effects of gastroenteritis.
That’s all for this edition of "Stupid Things People Do In the Backcountry". Next time, we’ll talk about the pros and cons of campfires, how some folks just shouldn’t be allowed to play with matches, and why outhouses aren’t a good source for firewood.
Happy Camping, Mike
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